The only thing that really makes me anxious is the ceaseless trickling of time. Every once in a while, you are not careful, and by the time you are made aware of your carelessness, a great deal of time has already swept past you. And I fear coming to an age in later years, wherein I will glance into myself and all about me, and lament that nothing has happened; my precious youth has gone waste. Which is why I have determined to do everything I can to make good worth of this life, to the set the stones of youth upon which the man can build his edifice. But time, time keeps creeping away. It slips past me, and I still can’t find anything to do. I need to search harder, to engage myself in more activities, to gather more experience – these things are so tiring. But time, time is passing.
What is time? We divide it up into hours and minutes and seconds and milliseconds, then nanoseconds, until finally it becomes ludicrous to divide any further. We have a clock which everyday we consult. A calendar too. Life can be sense of only because of time: I have an appointment tomorrow, I fell asleep in class just now, what time is the movie, it’s been so long since we last spoke… There is nothing that escapes the structure of time. But this structure is merely a facade; a representation of time, which we have created in order to puncture the infinite, ceaseless stream of motion. What then is the true essence of time?